


Stumbling Blocks

by BatmanWhoLaughss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kanan Jarrus Needs a Hug, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Star Wars Rebels: Spark of Rebellion, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Protective Hera Syndulla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanWhoLaughss/pseuds/BatmanWhoLaughss
Summary: So she waits, even though it kills her to do it, running so many tests on the Ghost that they won’t need to check the main systems for another two months. Until eventually, after a couple hours have passed, she vacates her perch in the pilot’s chair and makes her way to Kanan’s room.But when Hera gets there, keying open his door to find him curled up in the corner and surrounded by two mostly-empty bottles of liquor, she curses herself for being an utter, utter fool.[otherwise known as "kanan was a raging alcoholic for years of his life and no one ever talks about it, so I'm going to"]
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Stumbling Blocks

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like so many people don't really talk about kanan being a full-on alcoholic in the time before A New Dawn, and I was wondering what would happen if he had a relapse after he joined the Ghost crew, so I wrote about it. Happy Rebels Remembered day!!! I miss these two so fucking much, they deserved better

Hera’s always known about Kanan’s past.

He’s been an open book, from the moment he joined her crew, and Hera can’t help but reflect on how much closer they’ve grown in the year they’ve been traveling together. Not just physically, although part of her can’t help but blush at the thought of this newly formed _thing_ between them. But he’s grown so much more comfortable around her and the Ghost that it makes her heart swell.

He doesn’t talk much about the Jedi, and she doesn’t want to push him to until he’s ready, but any time she has a question about the time after the Purge, he’s always honest with her. Even when he’s blushing bright red, or looking down at his feet because he’s ashamed of himself and the things he did, he never lies. It’s something she admires about him. 

So she knows Kanan struggled, for years, with alcohol. He drank to cope with more loss than anyone else in the galaxy had any right to live with, and Hera can’t say she blames him. He promised her he would get sober once he came on board, and so far, he’s stuck to that promise. She’ll never admit it, but she’s immensely proud of him for coming this far, considering what he was like when she first found him on Gorse. 

They’re on a fairly routine op, doing recon on an old Imperial outpost on a backwater moon in the middle of nowhere. Hera can’t fathom why the Empire even has a presence this far into the Outer Rim, but she knows that whatever the reason, it can’t be good. 

She and Kanan are walking along a dimly lit street, doing their best to look like they belong here. There aren’t too many people around, so for the most part, they blend right in. Kanan’s hand is curled loosely in her own, and Hera can tell it’s partly for the sake of remaining incognito and partly for his own enjoyment. The thought makes her blush. 

As they deftly turn a corner, making their way towards the checkpoint and avoiding the patrolling stormtroopers, Kanan raises an eyebrow. “Any idea what the Empire is doing this far out?” 

It’s uncanny, the way he can practically read her mind sometimes. “Nope. Fulcrum didn’t know either. That’s why this mission is strictly recon.” 

He shrugs. “Recon’s easy enough. Seems like we’re coming up on the coordinates Fulcrum gave you, anyway.”

They’re silent after that, focusing on getting through the perimeter of stormtroopers without getting spotted. It proves easy enough to manage, and soon enough they’re inside.

But suddenly Kanan freezes, his whole body tensing as he stares at the large structure ahead of them, and Hera’s heart drops like a stone.

It’s a Jedi Temple. One of the smaller ones, if her father’s stories and the bits of information she’s picked up from Kanan are any indication. Kanan isn’t moving at all, just staring up at the stone structure with his mouth open. They’re still out in the open, and even standing behind him she can see him shaking. Hera glances around quickly, making sure there’s no one around to see them, before tentatively resting a hand on Kanan’s arm. 

“Kanan? Are you alright?” Immediately after asking, she knows it’s a dumb question, but she can’t help herself. She’s only seen him like this once or twice before now, and she’s terrified of what will happen if anyone catches them right now. 

But then every thought is driven out of her head by the Temple _exploding_ with a loud bang. 

They’re far enough away that they’re not thrown back from the blast, but even so, Hera can feel the tremors in the earth from where they’re standing. She can see the stone crumbling, collapsing back into the ground from whence it came. And through it all, Kanan is still standing motionless, facing the blast. 

_Oh no. No, no no._

Very slowly, she grips both of his arms, turning him away from the explosion. His eyes are wide, tears pricking at the corners, and his mouth is still open. When she gets a good look at his face, she immediately knows that he’s not here, not really. He’s somewhere far away, inside his head, as his eyes stare at some fixed point behind her. 

“Kanan.” She does her best to keep her voice steady, even as her heart pounds against her chest. He needs her to be steady now. “Kanan, I know… what just happened. I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but we need to move, love. We need to get out of here.” 

He’s still not looking at her. His eyes are unfocused, and she wonders if he’s even registering her words. 

“Kanan?” She tries once more, reaching her hand out to cup his face.

It breaks whatever spell he’s under, and when his eyes meet hers she can see so much pain there that it shatters her heart into pieces. 

“Hera?” The tears are still shining in his eyes, but they haven’t fallen yet. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” She smiles at him. “Come on. We need to get back to the ship.”

“Hera…” He’s still dazed, and she _hates_ that look on his face, but she can’t do anything about it until they’re back home. 

“I know. I _know_ , but just stay with me for a few minutes okay?”

He blinks once, then twice, before giving her a small nod. “All right, love,” Hera says, taking his hand again. “Just follow my lead.” 

They’re silent as they make their way back to the Ghost. Kanan is still tense all over, and Hera has a feeling that if she wasn’t physically dragging him home, he would still be frozen stiff in that Imperial compound. She wants to hold him, wants to chase away that haunted, lost look in his eyes until he forgets why he was upset in the first place, but she banishes the thought a moment later. _Not here._ She needs to get him home first.

It has to be the longest walk of her life. She’s loathe to look away from him for longer than a few seconds, but someone needs to scout the area around them for patrols, so she’s forced to swallow down the lump in her throat. She keeps a tight grip on his hand the whole time, though, and she suspects that it’s the only thing keeping him standing. 

After what seems like ages, they finally make it back to the ship, and when Hera hears the cargo bay door slam shut behind them she breathes a sigh of relief. 

Hera comms Chopper quickly, informing him that they’re both okay, and assuring him they weren’t followed, before she turns back to Kanan. He seems slightly less anguished than before, but his eyes still look like they’re trapped somewhere in the past.

“Love?” she asks quietly. “Are you alright?” She knows he’s not, knows it’ll be a while before he’s even close to alright, but she asks anyway. 

Kanan is still for a moment, before he swallows and lets out a shaky sigh. “I…” he stops short, seemingly considering his words before continuing. “I think I’m gonna meditate. Clear my head.” 

He sounds _much_ too calm, projecting an aura of false serenity that’s setting off alarm bells inside her head. But she knows if she pushes him now, he’ll just shut down even more. Hera’s insides clench as he starts to walk away from her, looking like the weight of the world is strapped to his back even as he tries to hide his pain. 

Still, she has to say _something_ before he goes. “Kanan…” He turns back for a moment, and that eerie, false calm is still radiating from him. “Just… call me if you need me?” She tries to pour everything she’s feeling into the small statement. 

Kanan manages a small smile, before turning and walking back towards his cabin without another word. 

Hera sighs, her eyes burning with unshed tears, but against her better judgement, she lets him go. 

She heads for the cockpit, intending to keep herself busy by running some diagnostics until Kanan is ready to talk, but her heart and brain are at war with each other when she gets there. She wants to go to him, wants to force his pain out into the open where she can wipe it away, but the other half of her feels the need to give him his space. He’s _not_ okay, she knows that much, but she knows Kanan doesn’t like it when anyone babies him, least of all her. 

So she waits, even though it kills her to do it, running so many tests on the Ghost that they won’t need to check the main systems for another two months. Until eventually, after a couple hours have passed, she vacates her perch in the pilot’s chair and makes her way to Kanan’s room. 

But when Hera gets there, keying open his door to find him curled up in the corner and surrounded by two mostly-empty bottles of liquor, she curses herself for being an utter, utter fool. 

His knees are against his chest, his forehead resting on them as he lets out small sobs that echo through the small space. He hasn’t noticed her yet, and for a moment she’s frozen in shock, her heart pounding against her chest as she stares at him, before she springs into action.

 _Stars, he came so far,_ she thinks, as she drops to her knees next to him. He’s been sober for _months_ , and she knows how hard he’s tried to keep it that way, and her hatred for the Empire grows a little bit stronger now that they’ve taken weeks of progress away from him too. 

She grabs his face, tilting it up to look at hers. His eyes are glossy, unfocused, and she leans her forehead against his without a word. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to help him other than to just _be here,_ give him a shoulder to cry on and help him pick up the pieces when he’s sober. 

But when his eyes seem to clear for long enough to focus on her face, it makes him crumble again. “ ‘M sorry,” he mumbles, his speech slurring. “ ‘M sorry. ‘M _so_ sorry.” 

Hera shakes her head, reaching to move the bottles from out of his reach. “It’s alright, love. It’s okay.” 

But it only seems to cause him more distress, and he hangs his head again. “I said I woul’n’t. I _pr’mised_.”

 _Blast him and his perpetual self-loathing_ , Hera thinks. He won’t stop worrying about others for long enough to give himself a break, and one of these days he’s just going to collapse from the stress of carrying the world on his shoulders. 

“I know, _hey,_ ” Hera says, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “I’m not mad at you.”

Kanan peers up at her with bleary eyes, and even through the drunken stupor she can see the surprise on his face. “Y’r not?” 

Hera smiles, even though her eyes are watering. “Everyone has setbacks, love. You’ve come so far. You’re gonna get through this.” It’s the truth. She wouldn’t lie to him, especially about this, and he perks up enough that she can move to sit next to him. “Just take some deep breaths for me, okay?”

She guides his head onto her shoulder, reaching for his hand. She doesn’t say anything more, just listening to his breaths hitch and waiting for him to speak. For a while he’s silent, staring out towards the wall of the room, until eventually he lets out a shaky sigh and curls in closer to her shoulder. “They _blew it up_. Righ’ in fron’ of me.”

Hera squeezes her eyes shut, because the pain in his voice is like something tangible in the small space. “I know. I’m so sorry, Kanan.” 

“Those Temples w’re buil’ to last forever…” he sounds like he’s far away again, like he’s flashing back to the days before the Purge when the Jedi were still alive and well, and Hera knows there’s no absolution she can offer him to make things alright. 

Hera sighs again, pressing her lips against the top of his head as her arm winds around his shoulders. “We’re gonna beat them,” she mutters. “We’ll make sure they can’t destroy any more.” 

“It _hurts._ ” It comes out as something like a whine, and Hera can’t help but ache for him. 

“I know, love. It’s gonna be okay.”

Kanan swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. “ ‘M sorry,” he says again, and Hera’s half tempted to kick him. “I di’n’t want you t’ worry.” 

She can’t help it–she laughs. “I always worry.” She leans down to look at him, finding him already watching her. “Remember that time you nearly blew up the ship trying to replace a power coupling?” She’s trying to make him laugh, distract him from everything he’s feeling, and for a second it seems to work. He cracks a small smile, just for a moment.

She starts to hope things will be alright after all when he mumbles a small _one time_ into her neck.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and for a moment Hera thinks he’s fallen asleep curled against her shoulder as they sit there in the small space. But a moment later, Kanan looks up, and his head seems to clear long enough for him to jerk his arm towards the wall. “Bottom drawer,” he mutters, and Hera notices his speech seems a little clearer in the moment too. “Ge’ it away from me.” 

Hera’s lips find his forehead. “Alright, love.” She squeezes his hand once as she disentangles herself from his embrace. He looks pained, like he wants to tell her to stay, but she smiles before he can say anything. “I’m gonna go get you some water and something to eat, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

He swallows thickly, before nodding and letting go of her hands. She fishes the last bottle out of his drawer with a shaky hand, and she can’t help but think how proud she is that he confessed to having it in the first place. 

She’s back a moment later, and she’s pleasantly surprised to see that Kanan’s pulled himself up onto his bed. He accepts the glass of water with a shaky hand, spilling a bit in the process. Hera can’t quite stifle her giggle. 

Kanan frowns at her, his eyes still somewhat glassy. “Don’ laugh at me.” 

“Sorry,” Hera says, laughing. “It’s just– this reminds me of the time I was all loopy on pain meds and you had to deal with me.” 

Kanan manages another smile. “You w’ren’t tha’ bad.” 

“You’re damn right I wasn’t.” She sits down next to him, grabbing his hand again. “C’mon. Drink up. Then you’re going to have a ration bar and go to bed.” 

“Not gonna buy m’ dinner first?” 

She bumps his shoulder. Still the same old charmer, even when drunk and in pain. “I think we’re past that, dear.” 

They’re silent for a few minutes, as Kanan sips at the water and eats the ration bar. His brow is furrowed, his shoulders hunched over as he nibbles on the last of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. 

“Stop that. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“But–” 

“No buts,” Hera says, reaching to take the empty glass of water from his hand and pressing her lips to his lightly. “You’ve been doing so well, love. Hiccups happen, sometimes.” 

She knew this was going to be a hard road when he promised to get sober, but she’s still so proud of the progress he’s made that this is barely a blip on her radar right now. It seems to satisfy him, at least for now, and he relaxes a bit, before rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead.

“Head hurts,” Kanan mutters.

Hera chuckles. “I can imagine. After months of sobriety you’re going to feel this in the morning.” She stands up, bending down to tug his boots off. He at least had the foresight to set his armor and blaster down on the other side of the room beforehand, and now she’s immensely grateful for it. “Let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? When you’re feeling better.”

Kanan nods, as she gets his boots off and motions for him to lie down. He grabs her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip when his head hits the pillow. “Stay?” It comes out as a whisper. 

Her heart shudders at the look on his face, but she nods immediately. “Course. Scoot over.” 

Hera strips off the outer layer of her flight suit, crawling into the bed in her thin undershirt and leggings. It’s a tight fit for both of them, but after a minute they settle into a comfortable position. Kanan’s head is resting on her shoulder, one arm thrown across her waist as his eyes slide shut. And it feels like only an instant later that his breathing starts to even out and his soft snores fill the room.

Hera presses a kiss against his forehead. It’ll be an unpleasant conversation in the morning, she knows, after she gets him an aspirin for the killer hangover he’s bound to have. She’ll ask him about any other secret stashes he’s got around the ship. He’ll feel guilty about this for weeks, and she knows he’ll try even harder than ever to stay sober. But she also knows that when Kanan Jarrus sets his mind to something, even if he stumbles occasionally, he always comes out ahead, in the end. It’s another thing she admires about him, and she can’t help but smile as she drifts off into sleep alongside him. 


End file.
